It was early on the same evening that Henry Clarence, the subject of her conversation with Melvina, called in, as he not unfrequently did, to spend an hour in pleasant conversation with Caroline Gay. He found her in the parlor reading.
"At your books, I see," he remarked, in a pleasant tone, as he entered.
"Yes; I find my thoughts need exciting by contact with the thoughts of others. A good book helps us much sometimes."
"You were reading a book then. May I ask its author?"
"Degerando."
"You are right in calling this a good book, Caroline," he said, glancing at the title page, to which she had opened, as she handed him the volume. "Self-education is a most important matter, and with such a guide as Degerando, few can go wrong."
"So I think. He is not so abstract, nor does he border on transcendentalism, like Coleridge, who notwithstanding these peculiarities I am yet fond of reading. Degerando opens for you your own heart, and not only opens it, but gives you the means of self-control at every point of your exploration."
The beautiful countenance of Caroline was lit up by pure thoughts, and Henry Clarence could not help gazing upon her with a lively feeling of admiration.
"I cannot but approve your taste," he said.—"But do you not also read the lighter works of the day?"
"I do not certainly pass all these by. I would lose much were I to do so. But I read only a few, and those emanating from such minds as James, Scott, and especially our own Miss Sedgwick. The latter is particularly my favorite. Her pictures, besides being true to nature, are pictures of home. The life she sketches, is the life that is passing all around us—perhaps in the family, unknown to us, who hold the relation of next door neighbors."